


Easy As Pirozhki!

by Silvandar



Series: Multi Fandom Drabbles and One-shots [12]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Restaurant, Angst and Fluff and Smut, M/M, Minor Victuuri, Romance, Top Yuri Plisetsky, otayuri - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2019-12-07 19:26:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18239216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silvandar/pseuds/Silvandar
Summary: Otabek is a food reviewer and Yuri owns a restaurant... they should be a match made in heaven, if Yuri would only stop getting in his own way...Short Restaurant AU.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> How did this happen? Another OtaYuri AU? Apparently I'm addicted, and a masochist.

“One pork, one fish, two chicken, away!”

“Yes Chef!”

Standing at the counter, the blonde controlled the kitchen with a fierce confidence, every dish receiving his assessment and final touches before being sent out to the elite of New York. Items not up to standard were returned to the line cook with a blistering torrent of vile language and sharp instructions on how to correct the dish. Anything unacceptable was recooked from scratch, and if that caused a delay to the table, the air around the Head Chef turned blue with rage. Despite his animation and fury, the people worked around him smoothly, accepting insults with grace, seeming to feed off his energy.

Watching the service play out, Otabek Altin rested his chin on his hand and swirled the wine in his glass. The kitchen was closed, probably to spare the diners from the worst of the owner’s vocabulary, but bouts of shouting in furious Russian drifted out whenever the doors opened for the waiters. Amused by the broad scope of the owner’s insults to his scurrying staff, Otabek let his gaze wander across the clientele.

 _Appassionata_ was currently trending as the number one restaurant on the Upper West Side, and very few of the diners were B list or below. From his carefully chosen vantage point near the kitchen doors, Otabek could see two tables of A list celebrities celebrating their recent Oscar wins, and a number of very wealthy businessmen. The Russian cuisine trend had landed on New York and everyone was clamouring to take a bite. Including him, of course.

Sipping the smoky, ruby red wine that had been recommended by his waiter, Otabek glanced towards the kitchen again, catching a glimpse of blonde as a particularly loud burst of swearing reached his ears. Unlike most of the guests dining tonight, the Kazakh spoke fluent Russian and was enjoying the profanity from the owner immensely. It spoke of passion and a high standard that appealed to him, as well as reminding him a little of home. Almaty didn’t seem quite so far away when he could listen to the tones of Arabic on the streets of Brooklyn, or hear a chef screaming abuse in eloquent Russian at his staff over chicken fillets.

“What’s on your mind?”

Raising an eyebrow at his companion, Otabek indicated the sounds of the kitchen. “This place reminds me of my first job” he shrugged, “I’m fighting off war flashbacks.”

“Plisetsky’s got a fierce reputation, that’s true… for a skinny, pretty boy.”

Otabek shrugged again as their food was brought out, turning his focus to the dishes laid before them on the pristine tablecloth. “He’s the youngest Russian chef outside of Moscow to open his own restaurant. You don’t get to do that if you’re timid.”

“More importantly, he’s the youngest Russian chef to get a Michellin star _ever_ ” the jovial Canadian picked up his cutlery with a happy sigh, “and you, my stoic friend, are practically drooling… is it over the food, or the owner, I wonder?”

As their meal had been served, the man in question had ducked out of the kitchen for a moment to speak with the head waiter and Otabek had forgotten about the forkful of food half way to his mouth. Chuckling at his reaction to the sight of the tall, slender blonde, the Canadian nudged him as bright green eyes swept across the restaurant and caught sight of the pair. “Watch out, we've been spotted.”

Otabek sighed and put his fork down as the owner stalked across to their table. Even his movements were appealing, catlike and feral, as Yuri Plisetsky forced a grimace in place of a smile and directed a look of pure venom at Otabek’s dining companion.

“Leroy… I wasn’t aware you had a reservation.”

“I sneaked in under the radar” the Canadian grinned, indicating Otabek. “I had a feeling you wouldn’t accept a booking in my name, not after last time.”

Finding himself suddenly on the receiving end of the glare, Otabek curled his lip. “JJ, don’t tell me…”

“Technically he’s banned” Yuri nodded, and JJ laughed in delight at the deception. Otabek groaned and rolled his eyes.

“That’s a shame, the food looks really good. I hate to leave without trying any” he rumbled, and Yuri suddenly broke out into a savage grin of his own.

“Oh don’t worry” he said, “you can stay. Mr Leroy here is the only one that I’ll be asking to leave…”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that” Otabek said sadly, “if I let him go running off around New York without me, his wife will skin me alive.”

Yuri folded his arms over his narrow chest, tapping a foot as he appraised the Kazakh. After a tense moment he shrugged. “Fine, you can both stay… but you’re responsible for him. By which I mean, if he breaks anything or harasses any of my staff this time, _you’ll_ be getting a bill and a lawsuit.”

Groaning, Otabek nodded and watched the blonde stalk back towards his kitchen, enjoying the way his hips moved under his apron. There was almost nothing to him, yet he moved with power and precision. Unable to stop himself from wondering what might lie under the white shirt and pants, Otabek chewed his lip until he heard JJ cackle. Then he turned his attention to the Canadian.

“What exactly did you do to get banned? This place has only been open for two months!”

“I might have had a few too many glasses of champagne with Izzy and made some comments about how cute the owner would look in cat ears. I also might have tripped and fallen through a table.”

Slapping his hand over his eyes in despair, Otabek firmly refused to entertain the thought of Yuri Plisetsky in cat ears… and a tail… maybe little whiskers drawn on those sharp cheekbones… shuddering, he turned his attention back to the meal desperately.

“If he was a cat, he’d be a tiger” he commented, and JJ’s booming laugh echoed over the sound of the busy restaurant.

“I knew it was the view that had you distracted… come on, at least focus enough to do your job!”

* * *

“I can't believe you let Leroy in here. What the hell, Victor?”

The Front of House manager chuckled as Yuri threw himself onto the couch in their shared office. “I didn't think you'd want me to throw his dining companion out.”

“What? Why not?”

“You do know who that was?”

“Obviously I do not...”

“That was _Otabek Altin._ As in...”

“The fiercest reviewer from the New York Times” Yuri groaned, covering his face with his hands. “I threatened him with a lawsuit.”

“Well, that should make for an interesting article.”

“It's your own fault, Yuri” the other manager of the restaurant looked up from his laptop, glancing at the blonde reproachfully. “You hate being told when there are reviewers in...”

“I know, I know! Is that why Leroy's such an ass? Because he has important friends?”

“I don't think so” Yuuri Katsuki turned back to his work, accepting a coffee from his husband with a smile.

Victor nodded, adding sugar to his own cup. “I think he's just an ass in general. For what it's worth, I suspect you'll get a good write up from Altin.”

“Service was good tonight” Yuri nodded, grimacing at the taste of his eight cup of coffee that day and adding twice as much sugar as the other two. “The new sous chef is starting to find her feet as well...”

“That's not what I meant” Victor laughed, “I think Altin was more interested in you than the food...”

“What?”

“Honestly Yuri, you're so oblivious” Yuuri shook his head. “Even _I_ noticed the way he was watching you when you were on the floor.”

Pulling his laptop towards him, Yuri stared at the spreadsheets for his stock check without seeing them, mind racing back over the evening. The reviewer had definitely been awkward when they spoke... plus, he was ridiculously attractive. “You're suggesting that the smoking hot NYT reviewer was eyeing me up?”

“Stating, not suggesting. You should drop him an email once the review comes out, maybe invite him back for a private tasting session...”

“That would be completely inappropriate.”

“Rubbish. As long as the article's already out, you can't be accused of trying to influence him.”

Yuri rolled his eyes. “Ridiculous... it's not like I ever have time to date... 17 hour work days and zero social life is the cost of being a chef, you know that.”

“ _He_ knows that too” Yuuri pointed out, “so why don't you let _him_ decide if he can handle it?”

* * *

The Russian delicatessen was busy when Otabek arrived, but Yuri had somehow carved out a space at a table for the two of them and was projecting such a ferocious aura that none of the other customers even looked twice at the empty chair. Joining him, the reviewer raised an eyebrow at the cheap laminated menu and the dated wallpaper.

“You're wrong, you know” Yuri opened, pushing the chipped coffee pot in Otabek's direction.

“Interesting start” the Kazakh chuckled, topping up Yuri's mug. The china was old and cracked, but scrupulously clean. “Do you always begin by insulting your date?”

Lips quirking at the word 'date', Yuri shrugged. “Actually, yes. It helps to weed out the weak. But that wasn't an insult, just an observation.”

“What am I wrong about?”

“Your review said my restaurant was 'a genuine taste of Moscow'. That's not even close to the truth. This” he gestured, taking in the buzzing counter and the laughing redhead serving her regular customers, “is a real taste of Moscow. Best pirozhki in New York, if not the whole of America.”

“You're exaggerating again” the redhead weaved her way to their table, a basket of the steaming buns in her hands. “Beef on the left, cabbage on the right” she added, setting the food down and eyeing the Kazakh. “And _who_ is this cutie?”

“Leave him alone, Mila” Yuri said, snagging his share and giving her a sour look. “What would your wife think.”

“Sara knows I flirt with all my customers” she laughed, and Otabek inclined his head politely.

“I bat for the other team” he replied smoothly, “although if those pirozhki taste as good as they smell, I might consider switching sides for a while.”

Mila laughed and patted Yuri on the head, a risky move from what Otabek had seen of the blonde. To his surprise, the taller man merely swatted her way.

“Go pester someone else, baba”.

“Shout if you want more coffee” Mila winked at Otabek then disappeared back behind her counter, immediately getting scolded by her assistant for abandoning him for so long. Yuri shot her the finger and then relaxed, watching the Kazakh take a careful bite of the hot food.

Startled by the flavours and textures in the simple looking bun, Otabek lost himself in contemplation for a long moment before noticing the blonde watching him closely. “Astonishing” he mused, and Yuri laughed in agreement.

“If she wasn't practically family, I would have stolen the recipe years ago.”

“Don't you dare” Otabek warned, “your customers don't deserve this. _I_ don't even deserve this. This is a cultural treasure, I'm stunned they even let it out of Russia.”

“We smuggled it out” Yuri said comfortably, and Otabek laughed. “Mila and Sara moved here about five years ago. When they heard I was looking for a second location, they suggested Manhattan. They figured it would be a good market since their deli was doing so well.”

“They were right” Otabek took a cabbage bun and investigated the filling. “Russian culture and food has gained a foothold amongst the wealthy in the last few years. It's the newest fashion in rustic opulence.”

Yuri pulled a face. “Do you talk like one of your articles all the time? Or just on first dates?” Chuckling, Otabek made a gesture of apology.

“It happens sometimes when I'm talking food, sorry.” Finishing the last of his meal, he looked around. “Shall we move on? I feel guilty taking up space if I'm not eating.”

“Same” Yuri stood up and slung his leather jacket over his arm, signing for the check before the other man could protest. Following the blonde out into the warm spring sunshine, Otabek found himself watching the sway of his hips and the way his shoulders moved under his thin black tshirt. Curious as to Yuri's plans, he matched stride with him and found their route weaving towards Central Park.

“I was surprised you suggested meeting for breakfast” he admitted, “I know how it is, being a head chef... time is precious.”

“That's true” Yuri beelined for a small food cart near the steps, indicating a need for more caffeine. “I tend to be very picky who I spend it on.”

“Good to know” Otabek paid for their drinks before Yuri had a chance to find his wallet again, and the blonde pouted. It was adorable, and made his thoughts drift back to his conversation with JJ about cat ears. Shaking his head to clear it of impure thoughts, he followed Yuri to a spot on the stairs and sat down, watching the pigeons squabble over some bread crusts.

“I'm honoured. How long do you have today?”

“A few hours. I'll need to be back for afternoon prep.”

“In that case” Otabek stretched out his back, noting the way Yuri watched him, “what do you have in mind for the rest of the date?”

“That depends on how you feel about cats.”


	2. Chapter 2

Yuri's apartment turned out to be a brownstone, spacious and open plan, and clearly dominated entirely by his cat judging by the toys, cat trees and beds dotted around the lounge. The animal in question greeted them at the door, giving Otabek a distrustful look and sniffing his offered hand before scampering away and hiding. “Cute” he said, and Yuri smiled proudly. “Does it have a name?”

“Her name is Potya” the blonde said, kicking off his shoes. “Can you handle any more coffee, or are you done for the day?”

“Water would be nice. Otherwise I'll start vibrating.”

“Lightweight” Yuri flicked on the coffee pot and handed Otabek a water bottle from the fridge. “I'm pretty sure my blood is pure caffeine these days.”

“I remember that well. One of the many reasons I got out of the life.”

“Where did you work?” Yuri folded himself up on the couch and nodded approvingly as Otabek sat next to him, their knees touching. The physical contact felt easy and safe, and he relaxed as the other man spoke.

“Initially Almaty, but I wanted to learn cuisine so I moved to Paris for four years. Eventually I made my way to California, working for a two Michelin Star Italian fusion restaurant called _Valis_. I cracked after two years, the pressure was too much. I didn't want to work at a lower level though, so I switched career. I'd always enjoyed writing anyway, and had a vague plan to work on a book when I retired, so I decided to make that a reality sooner rather than later.”

“You worked for Chef Celestino?” Yuri looked stunned, and Otabek laughed.

“I was lucky to be trained by him, and he wasn't happy when I left. He said he felt he'd failed me as a teacher, which is ridiculous of course. If anything, I failed _him._ ”

“You're hard on yourself.”

Otabek shrugged, looking sad. “I think I stayed for so long because I felt I owed him, rather than wanting to be there. Hindsight is a curse sometimes.”

“I trained under Chef Feltsman in St Petersburg” Yuri said, “he was a nightmare, but he gave me his blessing when I opened up _Agape_ in Moscow. We've stayed in touch, even though I rarely get time to visit these days. _Appassionata_ takes up all my time, especially since getting the star last year.”

Setting his water aside, Otabek leaned forward and rested his arm on the back of the couch. “You deserve it. The meal last week was excellent. I know Michelin doesn't take into account anything beside the food, but I think the restaurant is stunning as well.”

“Thank you” Yuri let his fingers trail over the back of Otabek's hand, the room seeming warmer and smaller as their eyes met. “Was it the restaurant you enjoyed, or the owner?”

“Both” Otabek answered instantly, and Yuri smirked, uncoiling so he could move into the other man's space. Mirroring his gesture, Otabek brushed his hand along Yuri's shoulder and up into his hair, the desire clear in his eyes as their lips met.

The touch was lustful, neither of them prepared for the heat that flowed through them at the taste of each other. In moments Yuri was sitting astride Otabek's hips, hands buried in his hair as their tongues explored. Enthralled by the slender figure beneath Yuri's baggy tshirt and jeans, Otabek let his hands wander freely over the muscles of his back and chest. The blonde was just as curious, pressing harder against him as they began to lose air from the intensity of the kiss. Reluctantly, Otabek pulled back in order to breathe, staring up into bright green eyes.

“Wow.”

“Bedroom?” Yuri frowned when Otabek shook his head, lips automatically twisting into a pout. “You don't like me?” he demanded, and the other man immediately kissed his lower lip.

“I _do_ like you...”

“Then why...”

Pushing thick blonde hair back behind his ears, Otabek brushed their lips together again, wrapping his arms around him. “I don't want to rush this. I'm not interested in a one time thing, Yuri.”

To his surprise, the younger man pulled out of his arms and stood up, turning his back on him. “If you're asking to date, that's not going to happen.”

“You don't like me?”

“I do” Yuri turned, his expression tight, “but I don't have that kind of life. I barely have time to take care of Potya, let alone another human. I...” shaking his head, he stepped to the door and opened it, pointedly. “I have to get ready for work” he said, eyes downcast but unyielding. Sighing, Otabek rose.

“My life isn't exactly simple either” he said, “but I'd like to at least _try..._ ”

“No” Yuri folded his arms, refusing to meet Otabek's gaze. As the Kazakh left with an unhappy frown the blonde leaned against the wall, cursing himself quietly as he heard the front door close.

* * *

The reaction from Victor and Yuuri was about what he'd expected.

“ _You kicked him out?_ ”

“He wasn't interested, and I was running late. I wasted too much time on him already. Back off, baldy.”

Victor shook his head in bafflement. “He seemed very interested the other night...”

“Well, he wasn't. Leave it alone!” Yuri finished tying his apron and stalked to the kitchen, aware that Yuuri was following him.

“Did he want to see you again?”

“For the love of... I said, _leave it._ ”

“Because Victor's right, he _did_ seem interested... so it's a bit odd that you kissed then he decided no. Unless you're a terrible kisser, of course.”

“Katsudon, I'm warning you...”

“So I'm thinking maybe he wanted to see you again and you panicked, and kicked him out. Seems like something you'd do...”

“I'm about to start carving beef.” Yuri turned and put his hands on his hips, glaring at his restaurant manager. “That means I'm going to be holding a very large, very _sharp_ knife. Are you _sure_ you want to carry on this line of questioning?”

To his credit, Yuuri looked worried for only a moment before shrugging. “Fine. If that _is_ what happened though, I think you're an idiot.”

“Thanks for that assessment” Yuri muttered, grabbing the knife and watching Yuuri scuttle out of the kitchen. “You're not the only one” he added, under his breath. Since asking Otabek to leave that morning, Yuri had been riddled with regret and guilt at the way he'd ended their date. They'd had fun, the conversation easy and the progression to the kiss feeling natural. Otabek was definitely _his type_ , all stoic and mysterious up front, but with a sense of humour and grace underneath... kissing him had been exhilarating and Yuri could see the potential for passionate, mutually satisfying sex. Unfortunately, that wasn't going to happen without committing to dating, which Yuri couldn't do. _Couldn't_. He _couldn't_ risk dating if he wanted to keep his focus. He kept repeating that to himself silently as he carved up the beef for the evening service, monitoring the arrival of his subordinates until the prep was well underway around him.

* * *

Otabek pushed his plate away, glancing calmly around the bustling Italian-American restaurant. Reported as four star and currently very popular, the meal he'd been served was definitely _not_ in line with the hype. His steak barely touched, the sides cold when they'd arrived and the wine leaving a heavy sensation of tannins in his mouth, he began working through his mental thesaurus for words that could be subsititued for 'fucking awful' and 'shitstorm'.

“Want to send it back?” JJ rested his chin on his hand, giving up on his own plate. Otabek shook his head.

“No, I've had more than enough.” Beckoning for the cheque, he pocketed his notebook with a sigh. “What a shame.”

“You're so soft hearted. You always feel bad for them when they fuck up.”

“My readers don't know that” Otabek handed the worried looking waiter his credit card, showing no surprise when the manager hurried over to wave away the bill. Grabbing his coat, he stalked to the street without a backwards glance. “Reputation is everything to them, so if they think of me as a fierce monster they can trust my reviews. If they knew I felt sorry for a bad service, they'd think I was being too lenient.”

“You have a complicated life” JJ nodded, hailing a cab. “I notice you're not checking your phone for texts, and you're not doing that weird thing you do when you're happy...”

“Weird thing?”

“The smiling thing. I take it the date didn't go well?”

Sighing, Otabek dropped into the cab and gave the address for their favourite cocktail bar. Twenty minutes later, they were ensconced in a booth and making free with a pitcher of Long Island Iced Tea, and JJ was staring at him in despair.

“So that's it? He said no, and you just slunk away with your tail between your legs?”

“I didn't slink... he was very clear about what he wanted.”

“You're not even going to _try_ and convince him?!”

Otabek glowered at the Canadian, irritation plain on his face. “You and your romcom bullshit... when a person says 'no' you don't _convince_ them, you respect the heck out of that shit and _leave_. Anything else is abusive and creepy.”

Pulling a face, JJ waved that comment away. “If I'd given up that easily, Izzy and I wouldn't be married.”

“That's utter crap, you two were love at first sight. The only reason you had to go chasing her was because of your meltdown on your stag night and the texts you sent her calling the whole thing off. Luckily for you, she understood you were just having a wobble. That's not the same thing at all.”

Having the grace to look embarrassed, JJ took a long pull of his drink. “You know you're going to run into him again. He may claim not to have a social life, but he _does_ have obligations... and Manhattan is actually pretty small when it comes to Michelin star food.”

“I'm sure I will, but we're adults and it's fine” Otabek said, firmly ignoring the sad twist in his gut as he thought about the prospect. No matter how easy talking to Yuri had been, or how good it had felt to be in his arms, no meant no. Seeing him again would hurt a little, both from regret and rejection, but he'd get over it. Eventually.


	3. Chapter 3

The temperature of Mexico in May was stunning, and Yuri was grateful for the ocean breeze washing across the Playa Del Carmen. His hotel room included a sea view terrace with a glorious plunge pool which he had quickly identified as his preferred relaxing area, although the massive jacuzzi bath tub was a close second. Stretching out in the water, he took a sip of champagne and sighed, his sunglasses shielding his eyes from the sun as he looked out over rolling blue waves.

Receiving the invitation to cook for the Michelin sponsored dinner event at the Grand Velas resort had been a shock, and his instinct had been to refuse it. Victor and Yuuri had screamed at him for nearly two days while he considered the options, and in the end he'd bowed to their combination of logic and volume. It _was_ a massive career opportunity, and a huge endorsement of both his brand and the Russian cuisine he had spent his life trying to impress upon a relucant world. Proving that Siberian flavours could be as valued as French classics had been his dream ever since he was a child, the invitation was proof that he was right.

Leaving Victor and Yuuri in charge of the restaurant had been a wrench, especially since he needed his sous chef with him in Mexico. Georgi had been delighted to go of course, although Yuri wasn't sure if he was more interested in the event or the chance to talk to women who hadn't yet learned to avoid his obsessive version of courtship. In the end, he'd agreed only because his best Line Chef had been keen to step up – without her reassurances, he would never have left.

The room was a twin, but Georgi had only spent one night there since they'd arrived three days ago, presumably having already charmed his way into some poor woman's affections. Yuri's usual kitchen rules applied; he didn't care what his staff got up to outside of work as long as it wasn't illegal, and didn't compromise their ability to do their jobs. His sous chef's amorous habits meant he mostly got their room to himself.

Three days down, and two to go before the opening night. Yuri had agreed to nine days of exclusive dinners, with no more than three groups per service. The idea was to provide the absolute best food that _Appassionata_ could offer in the stunning luxury setting. As usual, he'd declined to know any details of his guests; he loathed the idea that people should get special treatment based on who they were. If they sat at his table, no matter if they were paying in diamonds or food stamps, he would serve them all the same.

* * *

Otabek sighed and slid his sunglasses down his nose, looking out over the clear blue water from his ocean view terrace. The pool beside him was equally as inviting, but mild air sickness plagued him and he decided not to risk provoking his nausea. Collapsing onto the white sheets of the massive double bed, he closed his eyes and tried to relax as the air conditioning dealt with the intense Mexican heat.

The series of articles he was writing had seen him bouncing around the globe for over a month. Michelin were sponsoring a number of dinner events at resorts in Europe and America, showcasing the best and brightest of this year's star winning talent. The New York Times had funded the series as part of a new look food supplement they were launching in June, and had moved their most popular reviewers onto the roster. Discovering that Yuri Plisetsky was hosting the dinner in Mexico had given him pause, but his editor had waved away Otabek's nervous admittance of their single date with an amused huff, unconcerned about one little blip in his otherwise spotless record with the other chefs.

Yuri's well known habit of ignoring the identities of his diners and most press that wasn't directly about his restaurants meant that Otabek was fairly sure he didn't know they were going to be at the same resort. The prospect of him finding out during an important service weighed heavily on the reviewer, so once he felt able to eat and bathe he went in search of the Russian. He already knew where he was likely to find him – the kitchen set aside for the dinners was close to the exclusive balcony that would host the guests for the nine nights.

Spotting the blonde talking with his sous chef amid the prep for the opening night the following day, Otabek had a moment of doubt and worry. They hadn't spoken since the date, and Yuri's temper was legendary; if he didn't react well to Otabek's presence, things could get ugly. Steeling himself, the Kazakh waited until Yuri headed out of the kitchen, then hurried to catch up with him at the brief opportunity for privacy.

As he recognised the figure approaching him in the corridor, Yuri's heart gave an uncomfortable leap up into his throat and he froze, torn between the urge to bolt and the unexpected desire to pull the reviewer into his arms. His expression must have settled into its habitual scowl, as Otabek looked immediately wary.

“Sorry to interrupt. I thought I should let you know that I'm here for the dinner tomorrow night.”

“Guh” Yuri's throat locked and he shook himself, trying again. “You're reviewing the food?”

“An article for the Times on the whole event. I've been travelling for a month.”

“You didn't text me” Yuri stopped, horrified at his own words. He hadn't planned to admit that it hurt a little when the Kazakh failed to get in touch. Looking ashamed, he tried to cover the moment. “I mean... well, I bought you breakfast, a thank you might have been nice.”

Irritation immediately sparked in Otabek's eyes, although his face remained its usual calm mask. “You made it pretty clear you didn't want to see me again, so I decided not to bother you.”

“Yet here you are.”

“For _work._ Don't worry, I know how to be professional...”

“Good.”

“Good!”

They glared at each other for a moment, before Otabek sighed and turned away. “I just wanted to let you know so you didn't find out mid service.”

“I...” Yuri snapped his teeth shut, stopping what he just knew was about to become a defensive growl. “I hope you enjoy the food” he finished, striding away from the Kazakh with more than a little aggression in his step. Ego bruising aside, the fact that Otabek hadn't got in touch made him even more appealing... proof that he could accept boundaries and limits so calmly and _still_ be thoughtful enough to let Yuri know he was at the resort. Maybe also a good indication that he could cope with dating someone with very little time and energy. Grumbling to himself at his own stubbornness and stupidity, Yuri prowled back into the kitchen and lost himself in routine tasks, trying not to think of anything besides food.

Watching him go, Otabek cursed himself inwardly for being snappy and putting even more distance between them. The blonde had seemed hurt and confused during their conversation, ending on a defensive note... yet, wasn't he doing exactly what Yuri wanted? Perhaps he should have sent a thank you text after all... irritated at the social faux pas, the reviewer headed back to his room to relax in his private pool until the evening meal.

* * *

The knock on the door startled Otabek awake three hours later, and he groaned at the pruned texture of his skin. Falling asleep in the balcony pool and missing dinner was a double slap in the face, he was lucky he hadn't drowned himself. Wrapping a towel around his waist and nursing a dead leg, he stumbled to the door and wrenched it open at the second knock.

“Look, you're allowed to _tell_ me I'm being an asshole” the blonde started speaking as soon as the door opened, taking Otabek's surprised flinch as an invite into the room. “I mean, I was a dick to you, and all you do is be _nice_ to me about being here... and then I'm rude to you _again_ yet you just take it... so I guess you don't care about anything I say or do, which just makes me feel worse because there was something, wasn't there? I mean, I didn't imagine it?”

“Yuri...”

“You're right” stalking to the door, Yuri pulled it open violently. “I shouldn't have come... I've got no right to ask anything from you! You did what I asked, that's all...”

“Yuri, I...”

“But then you _worried_ about me!” Spinning away from the door, Yuri prowled back across the room, looking out over the sea as he spoke. His words were tumbling over each other, moods swinging wildly. Otabek wondered how long he'd been bottling his thoughts up. “You worried about how you being here would affect my service... you made an effort to let me know... you _cared_... so what's that all about?! I mean...”

“Yuri!”

The tirade stopped, Yuri's eyes wide at the sharp tone from the other man. Keen to prevent an escalation, Otabek raised his hands in surrender. “If you want to talk, we can talk... but can I please get dressed first?”

Green eyes moved over him as Yuri registered the towel and bare chest, focusing on the eagle tattoo on his bicep for a moment before rising back up to his face. “I'm tempted to say no...”

Unable to prevent himself from chuckling, Otabek shook his head. “Unbelievable.”

“Good or bad way?”

“Why did you come to see me?”

Dropping his eyes, Yuri folded his arms over his chest defensively. “I... I think I fucked up. When I kicked you out... it wasn't because of my work. Not really...”

Otabek raised an eyebrow. “Will you tell me why then?”

“Because I'm a bastard” Yuri held up his hand as the other man opened his mouth to protest. “No, I am. A massive pain in the ass, with zero filters and no patience. I've always been like that... and I _like_ the way I am! I'm good at what I do, and being a bastard has saved me so many times... I don't take shit from anyone, _ever_. A thick skin and nerves of steel is a huge advantage in this business... but here's the thing” he took a deep breath and met Otabek's perplexed gaze. “It's _not_ good for relationships... romantic or platonic. I don't have any friends... my business partners are more like family, and even they get sick of me sometimes.”

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Yuri gazed out of the terrace doors, suddenly feeling naked despite being the only fully clothed person in the room. He hated talking about his feelings at the best of times, let alone under such weird circumstances... but he'd already fucked up once with Otabek, he was determined not to do it again.

“You seemed to like me... and that was scary as hell because I knew, _I knew_ that once you realised what a bastard I am, you'd change your mind... and by then I'd be attached to you... and when you left it would be so much worse.”

“So you... you kicked me out so I wouldn't leave?”

“Shut up, you make it sound crazy.”

“It is pretty crazy...”

“I know!” Springing to his feet, Yuri faced the shorter man with a wild look in his eyes. “The thing is... even after all that, you were _nice_ to me... you didn't push, or go stalker on me... and you cared enough to come and see me today so I wouldn't be distracted during service. You... you didn't seem to mind that I was being horrible to you.”

Shoulders slumping in defeat, Yuri suddenly looked exhausted as if the emotions had worn him out. He looked small and fragile, and Otabek moved into his space carefully, trying not to spook him. The blonde sighed as the shorter man took his hand, that sense of calm radiating from him exactly as it had in the corridor before.

“It's okay” Otabek murmured, and Yuri closed his eyes. “There's nothing to be afraid of... I knew who you were from the moment I met you. Your temper, your passion, your foul language... none of those things put me off. That fire is what drew me to you in the first place.”

“You'll wind up hating me...”

“You don't know that. Besides” Otabek traced his finger along Yuri's jaw, tilting his chin down so he could look into his eyes, “I've managed to annoy you a lot in the last five hours... are you sure you won't end up hating me?”

“Of course I won't!” Yuri muttered as he realised he'd played into Otabek's hands. “Very clever, yes. Point made.”

“Will you give us another chance?”

“When we get back?”

“Right now” Otabek said, pulling Yuri into his arms. “Say you'll go out with me again.”

“I... I don't want to go _out_ anywhere” Yuri murmured, fingers tracing the curve of Otabek's shoulder. The Kazakh's responding chuckle was soft and deep, his breath sweet against Yuri's cheek.

“Then we'll stay in. Apparently they have pretty good room service here.” Yuri's stomach instantly growled its appreciation for the idea, and he looked mortified. Otabek disengaged gently and pointed to the room's tablet. “Order something, and I'll get dressed.”

“Don't feel you have to...”

“Order food, Yuri.” Otabek disappeared into the bathroom, leaving the blonde huffing in amusement as he dug through the late meal options. “I'm assuming you didn't eat tonight?”

“What makes you say that?”

“You were working on the final prep for opening tomorrow and stressing about talking to me. I don't see food featuring heavily in that.”

“It's like you know me already.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gods Yuri XD


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is unapologetic food porn. I have no regrets.
> 
> Please note I have changed the rating from "mature" to "explicit" because apparently I am incapable of writing anything wholesome.

Ordering vegetarian tacos on the basis that it was late in the evening and he couldn't face heavy food, Yuri threw himself on Otabek's bed and closed his eyes. Humiliation tried to wash over him from his ranting earlier, but each time he fought it back with the memory of Otabek taking his hand, the sweetness of the gesture reassuring him that he hadn't fucked things up again. As he listened to the sound of water running as Otabek showered, he smiled to himself and stretched out, finding a comfortable position.

When Otabek emerged from the bathroom he discovered the blonde asleep on the bed. The older man shook his head in amusement, folding himself into a chair to wait for the room service. He wasn't surprised Yuri had passed out; the intensity of their conversation must have been the final straw on top of the long hours of prep he was doing for the event. Watching Yuri's narrow chest rise and fall, his expression peaceful in sleep, Otabek decided he could get used to this view.

Waking him up gently when food arrived was an interesting experience. Unsure of how Yuri would react to being touched, Otabek went with calling his name softly until he stirred. Green eyes blinked open, fuzzy with sleep as he scanned his environment, clearly disoriented. When his gaze fell upon the reviewer a slow smile crept across his face and he sighed with relief.

“You're still here...”

“You're in _my_ room... but yes, I'm here. So is your dinner.”

Yuri pushed himself upright, arching his back in a stretch and scuffing his hands through his hair. “I'm starving” he admitted, and Otabek passed him the room service tray.

They ate together, occasionally stealing glances at one another. The domestic atmosphere came easily, comfortably, just as it had in Yuri's apartment all those weeks ago. It occurred to Otabek that he'd never met anyone he could be silent with so quickly; the reviewer wasn't a fan of unnecessary conversation or 'small talk', he liked _big_ talk of interesting things, or nothing. Yuri seemed to be the same, and it was refreshing.

Eventually, Yuri checked the time and groaned, rising from the bed. “I need to get some proper sleep, tomorrow's going to be hellish enough as it is.”

“Understandable. Rest well” Otabek smiled, and Yuri tugged him upright, slipping his arms around his waist.

“Is it ok if I...”

In answer, Otabek sank his fingers into Yuri's hair and pulled him into a kiss, firm and deliberately slow so the Russian had the chance to pull away if he wanted to. Nothing could have been further from Yuri's mind, and he responded with enthusiasm. For long moments they lost themselves, feeling that heady lust once again as their bodies molded together. Each time they kissed it felt as if they'd been made for each other, and it was with a great deal of reluctance that they parted.

“Goodnight Yuri. I'm looking forward to dinner tomorrow.”

Pausing as he pulled the door open, Yuri bit his lip as he thought. Making a decision, he nodded at the reviewer. “Come by the kitchen about 3pm and I'll give you a sneak preview.”

Otabek stared at him, stunned. “A-are you sure? Isn't that...”

“You're reviewing the event itself, right, not just the food? So it doesn't matter if you get a bit of special treatment. I won't force you...” he added, panicking as he worried he'd overstepped an invisible line.

“N-no I... I'd love to. Thank you, Yuri.”

“Yur-a” the blonde corrected, flashing his rare smile again. Heat flushed through Otabek's whole body and he nodded, trying out the more personal form of the name and instantly deciding he liked how it felt.

“Goodnight, Yura.”

* * *

“To begin, we have hot Shchi made with fermented cabbage.”

Otabek watched as the waiters smoothly placed the first dishes at the table, noting the silver-service approach used by the hotel staff. His fellow diners consisted of a number of food critics as well as a variety of the super wealthy, and as such expected nothing short of perfection. Having already tried a few of the dishes, hiding out the way in the back of the kitchen while the controlled chaos of the preparations went on around him, he was certain they would be satisfied.

Providing a tasting menu was a wise choice, in Otabek's professional opinion. At his restaurants, Yuri normally set a limited menu, with a meat, fish and vegan option for each course. Sticking to that for the event would have severely restricted his ability to showcase his food, not to mention the extra work it would have caused the kitchen.

Instead, the dishes came out one after another, tiny versions of his signature food plated with precision and grace. Drizzles and dustings were all the decoration he allowed, insisting that the food speak for itself. The first dish was no more than a mouthful of the sour, tender soup, a perfect start to the long procession of courses. Otabek's mouth began to water the moment he tasted it, kicking in his desire to eat more.

“Next, a light blini served with ikra.”

As Yuri explained the details of the dish, Otabek turned his attention to the scenery. The meal was served on one of the Grand Velas' seaview terraces, and the evening air carried the tang of salt. The sky was painted with blues, from the azure remains of the day near the horizon all the way to the deep purple of the incoming night sky. No stars yet, there was too much light for that. Otabek wondered if Yuri liked to stargaze.

“To follow, a traditional salad Olivier.”

The diners had fallen for Yuri's food by now, each item generating a little more excitement than the last. Even the Russians were animated and eager for the next plate, even though they were familiar with the combinations of sour flavours and rich broths. For the westerners, their initial scepticism was gone, replaced with exclamations and delight.

“For the meat selection we have a traditional beef kotlety.”

As the plates were cleared, Otabek risked a look towards the kitchen for a glimpse of the chef, knowing that as soon as he'd delivered his introduction to each course Yuri disappeared back to check the plating for the next one. He wondered if the blonde ever used a pedometer when he was working, the numbers would probably be spectacular.

“For the next dish we have pork shashlyk in the St Petersburg style.”

Delicate kebabs of marinated meat and onions, each slice of pork showing grill marks and the vegetables crunchy and sweet. Despite each dish being no larger than two bites at the most, the edge was off the diners' hunger now, and they were settling in for the long haul, exploring the flavours and textures in greater detail. The entire sitting was due to last two hours, giving time for conversation and reflection between each dish.

“Next, one of the national dishes of Russia; plemeni served with smetana. I have chosen beef to balance the previous course.”

The vodka served with the meal was giving Otabek a warm buzz as he sampled the tiny dumplings. He was losing his thought process, the lack of hesitation or nerves in Yuri's voice sending his mind wandering to other situations where the blonde could give crisp, confident instruction. Food... he was here for food, not perving on the star of the show. Although he wasn't the only one; Otabek had noticed more than a few of the diners giving Yuri appraising glances as he retreated to the kitchen between courses. Young, attractive Michelin star chefs were rare, after all.

“For the final savoury course, we have pork kholodets with horseradish, served with salted buckwheat porridge and mochoniye yabloki, which is sour soaked apples.”

Each slice of the jellied meat was bite sized, allowing the diner to taste all the components of the dish at once. As a finale to the savoury dishes, it was ingenious, accurately hitting the point of satiation. The salted porridge kept the urge to eat going, but the stomach was full and now the desire for sugar and sweetness began to take over.

“Please take a moment to enjoy the traditional black tea that sometimes replaces the dessert course in Moscovian restaurants.”

Served hot, the tea was a welcome break from the alcohol. Otabek sipped and listened to the talk around him, nodding and offering encouraging smiles when the other diners engaged with him. His reputation as a fierce critic gave him a certain amount of privacy at formal dinners, since most people feared interrupting him. Given how distracted he was by Yuri's habit of standing at his shoulder when each course was served, Otabek was glad he was mostly being ignored.

“To begin the dessert course, a light and fragrant morozhenoe served with strawberries, blueberries and white chocolate.”

The ice cream was presented in little wafer dishes, the fruit finely diced and the whole thing small enough to be eaten with your fingers in two bites. Fruit and chocolate was one of Otabek's favourite combinations, and his excitement when offered a taste earlier had made Yuri laugh. The blonde had stolen a chilled kiss after he'd eaten it, looking amused at the shocked and delighted expression on Otabek's face at the gesture.

“The penultimate dish is apple zefir with chocolate drizzle.”

Chewing thoughtfully on the soft meringue-like confectionery, Otabek speculated on how exhausted Yuri must be. The prep for a tasting menu was always intense, given how every single dish could be nothing short of perfection. Having sat through tasting dinners where things had gone wrong with the quality of the food or the plating, Otabek knew what an utter disaster even a small mistake could cause. The whole point was for tiny, bite sized courses to come out continuously, in a series designed by the chef to be complimentary and naturally progress from appetiser to dessert. Having to send something back, or dealing with a delay in bringing out a course, was enough to throw the kitchen into chaos and break the flow of the meal completely. Guests had walked out for such things, and Otabek didn't blame them. The anticipation of each dish and the experience of the service was a large part of a successful tasting menu. Coordinating that, especially when it wasn't your normal style of cooking, was incredibly challenging.

“Lastly, we have a cold kissel served with sweetened quark. While this is the last dish, there will be a second serve of tea, and you have the opportunity to try sbiten, a traditional spiced beverage, or kvass made with ginger and mint. Thank you for your time this evening, and I hope you have enjoyed your meal.”

Otabek opted for the sbiten, since it was the one beverage he hadn't managed to find on his last trip to Moscow. As the diners began to discuss the meal and mentally prepare themselves for leaving, he leaned back on his chair and looked out over the sea. His group was the second cover of the night, the last one would be another arriving in about an hour. Time for the dining area to be cleaned and reset, and the kitchen to have a brief rest before they started all over again. Unlikely that Yuri would rest though, he would be picking through the feedback from the front of house staff and double checking the station prep with his sous chef.

As the reviewer rose and followed the other diners to leave the terrace, he was stopped briefly by one of the waiters who politely handed him a folded note. Otabek smiled and asked him to pass on his compliments to the kitchen, pocketing the slip of paper until he was alone. His heart leaped as he saw the blonde's crabby cryillic, instantly recognisable from the whiteboards in the kitchen.

_If it's OK for me to come to your room this evening, leave a Do Not Disturb sign on your door._

Subtle as a sledgehammer. Otabek chuckled to himself as he made his way back to his hotel room, stopping by the bar to pick up a bottle of vodka. After spending the last few hours inches away from the most tempting dish at the table and being unable to even properly look, let alone touch, the Kazakh couldn't prevent himself from hoping Yuri wouldn't pass out again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> O_o smut next chapter? XD


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lemon~

Otabek opened the door at the first knock, and Yuri forced himself not to stare. The reviewer was fresh from the pool, wearing one of the hotel's thin robes over black swim trunks, hair damp and pushed back. Thankful that he'd decided to stop by his room first for a shower and change of clothes, Yuri followed the smaller man inside and accepted a shot of vodka.

“Congratulations on opening night” Otabek raised his glass in salute, and Yuri didn't even try to suppress his grin.

“No-one's died yet, so it's a success.” Otabek raised an eyebrow, and Yuri shook his head. “Sorry, my traditional opening night joke. One of the chefs on my catering degree gave his final year examiners food poisoning with bad squid, and ever since then...”

“Ah, guillotine humour. I remember it well” Otabek tipped his head back and drained his shot in one, the muscles on his neck working smoothly as he swallowed. Before Yuri had time to think through his actions he closed the gap between them, pressing his lips to that inviting throat. The reviewer gasped at the sudden contact, hands going to Yuri's shoulders to pull him closer.

“I was watching you all through the service” he murmured, as the blonde trailed kisses over his skin, every touch sending sparks through the reviewer's body. “I couldn't take my eyes off you...”

“S-same” putting their glasses aside, Yuri rested his fingers on Otabek's jaw and tilted his head, giving him more access to the temptation of his throat. Soft bites and long licks joined the kisses, and Otabek groaned against his hair, fingers digging into his back as they moved across the room. “I couldn't help it, I had to be near you... but I knew I couldn't touch... it was torture...”

Otabek's knees hit the bed and he folded gracefully, pulling the blonde on top of him and sinking his fingers into his hair. “You _did_ stand behind me on purpose then... I wondered...”

“Every time” Yuri punctuated the words with a tug on the belt of the hotel robe, and the thin fabric fell away obediently. Lowering his head, he ran his tongue along the mound of Otabek's clavicle, winning another groan. “Can I stay the night?”

“T-that's what the sign meant, right? Your note...”

“That was then. This is now. You might have changed your mind.”

“Not likely” Otabek twitched as long, kitchen-roughened fingers drifted over his hip, flirting with the band of his trunks. “You're wearing far too many clothes for this” he added, tugging at Yuri's t-shirt.

The blonde knelt upright and gripped the fabric of his top, pulling it over his head and tossing it onto the floor. His torso was slender but well muscled, dotted with the traditional burn scars of a career chef. Whining softly at the sight of him, Otabek sat up and ran his hands over Yuri's chest, letting his gaze wander appreciatively.

“I knew you were beautiful, but this is ridiculous.”

“Shut up” the reply was rough with embarrassment, and Otabek wisely put aside the verbal body worship for a while, hearing the defensiveness in the other man's voice and recognised it as a danger zone. Instead, he let his lips trail over pale skin while his hands made short work on the fly of Yuri's jeans.

“Did you have anything particular in mind for tonight when you wrote that note?”

Yuri rocked back onto his heels as Otabek's palm slid over the rising bulge in his jeans, moving the fabric aside with deft fingers. His lips found the soft bud of a nipple, and the blonde bit off a moan. “W-why do you think I took a s-shower...”

“Hmmm” sliding the jeans out of the way, Otabek paused and looked up, finding green eyes fixed on the movements of his hand, fogged with lust. “Tell me what you want, Yura...”

“Ahh... I...” closing his eyes as a flush rose on his cheeks, he bit his lip. “I don't know if you'd want to...”

“I have no issues with most things” Otabek murmured, letting his hands wander over the tight muscles of Yuri's stomach and down the curve of his hips. He knew the hesitation was just caution, Yuri didn't want to frighten his new playmate away by being too pushy... but Otabek wanted him exactly the way he was, demanding and exacting. “Just say it... I won't freak out, I promise.”

“I want you... want to take you...”

Otabek grinned, trying to remain calm despite the flush of heat that flooded his brain and groin as Yuri spoke. “See, that wasn't so difficult... good thing I showered too...”

Pushing Otabek back onto the bed, Yuri sank his tongue into his mouth for long moments before wriggling out of his jeans completely, shedding his boxers at the same time. The brunette rose from the bed and grabbed his supplies from his suitcase, tossing his trunks aside. “Since you asked so nicely, would you like me to...?”

“Fuck no” Yuri growled, pointing Otabek back to the bed. “That's one of the best bits!”

Laughing, Otabek let himself be guided onto his back as Yuri nestled between his thighs. The blonde gazed down at Otabek's arousal for a long moment, then raised an eyebrow as he rolled a strawberry flavoured condom down the length.

“I might be having second thoughts... you're a lot bigger than I expected... very tempting...”

“Next time” the reviewer murmured, unable to disguise the desire in his voice. Yuri grinned and ran his hands over muscular thighs, ducking to flick his tongue over the head of his impressive erection. Sighing happily, Otabek sank his hands into thick blonde hair and spread his legs, gasping at the slick feel of his fingers as Yuri slowly began to work him open.

He should have known the Russian wouldn't be satisfied with a relaxed, compliant lover; Yuri clearly wanted Otabek in pieces as quickly as possible this first time. Breathing through his nose, he swallowed as much of him as he could manage, working his tongue and throat while his fingers stretched and explored. Otabek's happy sighing quickly shifted to moaning, then loud, breathless cries as Yuri found the right angle inside him. Hands tightened in Yuri's hair, and the brunette arched up, gasping out a warning.

“I c-can't take much m-more...”

Raising his head, Yuri licked his lips and considered the options. “If I carry on, you're gonna come for me?”

“Ahhh... _fuck..._ y-yeah...”

“Good... come for me, Beka, then let me fuck you...” the thud when Otabek dropped back onto the pillows made Yuri chuckle as he returned to his work, and soon the reviewer was cursing and gasping, his body shuddering as he hit the point of no return and Yuri's tongue on the head of his cock took him over the edge.

“ _F-fuck... Yura..._ ”

“Ahh... you're so ruined right now” Yuri smirked, kissing his way up Otabek's stomach and onto his chest as he cleaned him up. The reviewer was panting, chest and face flushed and streaks of sweat matting his hair, his eyes half lidded and his body quivering from the climax. “Turn over for me, let me have the rest of you...”

Rolling over so he was lying on his front, Otabek groaned against the pillow as he felt slick fingers drift over his entrance one last time, then heard the rustle of a second condom packet. He could feel hot breath on the back of his neck and pressure against his spine as Yuri shifted his weight, pressing his length between twitching buttocks. Delighted that the blonde had hit on one of Otabek's favourite positions already, he arched back against him and braced his weight on one knee as he stroked himself back to hardness.

“You ready? Use your words, beautiful” Yuri purred in his ear, and the reviewer gulped out his desire, nodding furiously as he spoke.

“Yes, _yes_... please, Yura...”

Entering him left the blonde breathless for long moments, lost in sensations of pressure and heat, a groan of relief ripping from both of them as their bodies joined. As the slight pain of the stretch faded, Otabek turned his head to watch as Yuri rocked his hips, sinking deeper with each thrust until he was hilted, pressing their lips together in a brief kiss before he took his weight on his arms. Taking up a fast pace, Otabek stifled his moans in the pillow as he pushed back against the length inside him, and Yuri protested softly.

“L-let me hear you, baby...”

“F-fuck...” Otabek growled as Yuri drove against his already sensitive prostate, thrusts merciless and deep. “ _Fuck..._ fuck that's g-good...”

Yuri lowered his head and painted kisses across his shoulder blades, panting with effort as he worked into him. “You're so hot _... so good..._ not gonna last...”

Wordlessly Otabek increased the friction on his cock, gasping as tension began to coil inside him again. Squeezing his eyes shut, he stopped trying to muffle his cries and focused on the build of pleasure, muscles jumping and twitching as Yuri pressed his forehead against his back, the blonde arching as he began to lose control of his rhythm.

“F-fuck... Beka... oh _fuck_...” Yuri descended into helpless moans as he came, his hips jerking harder as orgasm ripped through him. As he subsided against Otabek's spine and his wits slowly returned, he heard an answering cry from the brunette and felt the fluttering pressure of his second climax. Rolling his weight to the side, Yuri trailed his fingers through the sweat on Otabek's skin as he reluctantly withdrew.

They lay together for a while, neither willing to sacrifice their closeness to clean up. Yuri's breath was warm on Otabek's neck, arms wrapped around him and their fingers entwined across the reviewer's chest.

“You're amazing” Otabek murmured, and heard a huff as Yuri kissed his shoulder.

“Of course I am.”

“Modest, too.”

“If you want modest, don't date a chef.”

“Oh, we're dating now then?” The quip was met with a groan, and Yuri disentangled himself with an amused shake of his head.

“You don't make things easy, do you?”

Otabek turned and pulled him against his chest, wrapping his arms around him so he couldn't run away. “If I wanted easy, I wouldn't date a chef.”

“Smooth fucker” Yuri sighed, pressing his lips against Otabek's neck and relaxing, his emotions jumping at the tight embrace. “Dating then?”

“Definitely.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the ride! XD

**Author's Note:**

> [Links](https://linktr.ee/artofsilvandar) to my online accounts  
> 
> 
> * * *
> 
> Some of my other fics you might enjoy:  
> ["Bratva on Ice"](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1173482) my Otayuri Mafia AU  
> Canon based Kink!Otayuri fans[ click here!](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1144475)  
> Vampire/Nephilim OtaYuri AU[ A Kiss To Remember](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1197235) Winner of NaNoWriMo 2018  
> Multi fandom [drabbles and one-shots](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1298186)  
> 


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